


Someone Who'd Cherish Your Name

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Introspection, M/M, Season/Series 01, Unrequited Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-13 14:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: He's not entirely sure how they wound up here, jammed into one of the small stalls in the back of the club, Martin's fingers fumbling with his trousers, but Tim figures he can roll with it. Right up until the point he can't.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 55
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should warn you that despite what it looks like, this contains no porn whatsoever. *facepalms* I fail.

Tim's not entirely sure how they got here. On any other night they'd have all gone their separate ways, and sure, Tim would have probably ended up at a pub and then home with someone, some stranger that was all about getting off and getting gone. But he would normally have been the only one - Sasha sometimes came along, but she wasn't really interested in pulling and always left early, and he never bothered trying with Jon or Martin - no point in asking when he knew he'd get turned down, Jon choosing to stay in the Archives and Martin choosing to stay around Jon on the off chance that he might need him, which of course he never does. It would be enough to drive a man insane, Tim thinks, if he cared enough about either of them to pay much attention.

But tonight had been different. Sasha had recently broken up with her boyfriend - no great loss as far as Tim was concerned. He'd been boring and bland, and honestly he'd never really understood what she'd been doing with him in the first place - and she'd needed to go out and drink him away. She'd taken it into her head that they all needed to go out as a team and had badgered, prodded, and poked until they'd agreed. Tim won't lie, watching Jon bristle at her had been incredibly entertaining, but it had actually been _Martin_, of all people, who managed to get him to agree. He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed that, only that he'd entered Jon's office with a pile of statements and come back out looking shyly pleased, and Jon had later been grumpily present ("No, Tim. Water. I don't want-") for the first hour, fidgeting and looking more and more out of place as the other three had allowed alcohol to loosen them up.

His memory goes a bit hazy after that first hour, honestly, but Tim does remember Jon leaving, practically storming out of the pub with his shoulders around his ears, not bothering to so much as mutter a goodbye. He remembers watching Martin watch him go, wincing with pity at the sad, resigned look on his face. He remembers ordering them another round, something stronger this time, to cheer him up. He has a blurry memory of Sasha telling them that she was calling it a night, of suggesting that they go somewhere else, of dragging a protesting (but in a way that clearly showed he didn’t mean it) Martin to a club. He remembers trying to get him to loosen up and dance, how awkward he’d been until Tim had pressed himself along his back to guide him (he wouldn’t have, normally. But there’d been shots involved in his attempts to get Martin out on the floor, and he was just drunk enough to believe that there’d be no harm in pressing their bodies together, sliding his hands up Martin’s arms and along his shoulders, or gripping his hips to better help him move along. Surely just a little indulgence couldn’t hurt). But try as hard as he might he can't figure out how he ended up here, crammed into a dingy stall in the men's, with Martin on his knees in front of him, fingers fumbling with the button on his trousers.

Because here's the thing. It doesn't take a genius to get that Martin's probably a virgin, and Tim has never really been in the habit of picking those up. He's had boyfriends and girlfriends, one that he actually thought he might marry someday, and that stuff's fine for them, for someone you're going to stay with. Then you can take the time to teach each other, because while you can be good in bed (and Tim is extremely good in bed, thank you very much), it takes time to get to know what really gets a particular person off. But this isn't a prelude to a relationship, it's a quickie blowjob in the back of a club, and Tim doesn't have time to guide someone through the steps.

Except, well, it's Martin. He’s not a bad looking guy, although Tim thinks he probably wouldn’t believe it, just as he wouldn’t believe that he deserves better than to pine uselessly after someone who treats him rather shabbily. Not that Tim cares about that, or notices, really. Of course not. There’s no accounting for taste. But he's sweet, and earnest even when he really shouldn't be, and Tim would be lying if he said that he hasn’t thought about something like this happening, although he has to admit that when he’d pictured it (maybe more often than he’d care to say, but this isn’t the time to think about that), Martin had usually looked fairly into what was happening and not like he was being forced to do some unpleasant chore and wait, hold on a second.

Tim reaches down and stops Martin's hands where they're still trying undo his trousers. Martin’s hands are shaking and cold, his face is pale and his mouth is screwed up in distaste and suddenly Tim feels a lot more sober. "Hey, wait," he says, and Martin shakes his head and yanks his hands from Tim's and goes back at it, and honestly, Tim's never been less interested in getting his dick sucked. Not when the guy going for it looks like he might throw up.

"Martin. No," he says, and Martin stops, bowing his head. His hands hang limply in Tim's, and a flush starts to creep up the back of his neck. "Want to tell me what this is about?" Tim asks, and if it were anyone else he would probably leave, but it’s Martin and he can’t. He sighs and uses his grip on Martin’s hands to pull him to his feet. He waits for an answer, but Martin just stands there, avoiding his eyes. "Well?"

Martin shakes his head, and Tim sighs again. "Come on," he says. "Something's clearly going on. Is it to do with Jon?"

"Jon? No!" Martin's head flies up at that, eyes wide and round. But then he blushes and ducks it down again. He mumbles something.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"I said, I'm going to be thirty soon."

Tim stares at the top of Martin's head, nonplussed. "Right," he says, then, "No. No, I don't get it. What does that have to do with anything?"

Martin looks at him, face cherry red but an odd defiance in his eyes. "I haven't - I've never - I didn't want to turn thirty and not-"

"Ah." Tim nods. "Right. Didn't want to be a thirty year old virgin, then?" Martin chokes on air, and Tim nods again. "Well alright, then."

"You don't-don't think it's odd?"

Tim shrugs. "No odder than you usually are. Mostly just wondering why it's me here." He thinks about Martin's face when Jon left earlier, and narrows his eyes. "Was it because Jon-"

"No, no. I didn’t think – Jon isn’t interested, I know that, and you, you would never-" Martin's face screws up and he clenches his fists, clearly struggling, and this time Tim doesn’t try to calm him down, too nettled by the idea that he’s some sort of poor man’s substitute for Jon Sims, of all people. Jon, who will never so much as look at Martin, never ap – Tim grits his teeth, pushing the thought away. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care if Martin wants to waste his time on someone who will never want him back. The important thing here is that he isn’t anyone’s second choice. He puts as much space between the two of them as he can and crosses his arms, eyebrows up. Waiting.

Finally Martin gets himself under something like control. "I was going to pick someone up," he admits, voice low and eyes on the ground. "Someone that would just take care of it. But then you wanted to come here and you kept touching me and I thought-" he cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is hoarse and shit, Tim didn't mean to make him cry.

He stops him from shoving past with a hand on his chest. Martin could probably get by if he wanted to, but he doesn't, not really.

_This is such a bad idea_. And it is, it really is, not least so because they work together, and Tim might not be averse to sleeping with one (or two, or three) of the people who wander in to give statements, but he's never actually slept with a coworker. Well, okay, not a coworker that he can't avoid for a week or so after. If he needs to.

He doesn’t often need to, but if they do this he thinks he will. For both their sakes. An ill-advised, drunken blowjob in a seedy club would be one thing, but if Tim does what he’s thinking, if he takes Martin home, makes it as good as he can (as good as Martin deserves)…really, he should stop this now.

He doesn't. Instead he leans in, kissing Martin slow and deep and filthy, sucking the taste of the cheap alcohol off of his tongue, pressing their bodies tightly together, rolling their hips in a slow grind. Tim kisses him until Martin grows pliant and easy against him, kisses him until he’s making soft, helpless noises into his mouth, until his hands are scrabbling to pull Tim impossibly closer, hips rocking urgently against his; then pulls back, away, smiling when Martin follows, chasing his mouth. His eyes are still closed, and he looks wrecked already, just from one kiss. Tim’s chest goes tight and painful and his stomach does this absurd, fluttery thing that he’s going to blame on alcohol for his own peace of mind, thanks.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, and Martin opens his eyes. They are hazy, clouded with desire, and there’s no one else in that gaze. Only Tim.

“Come home with me," he says, and Martin is too far gone to say anything but yes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the unasked for porny second chapter. Much thanks to MildredMost for the beta. Without them, this would never have seen the light of day. <3

The drive to Tim's house isn't far, but he figures that it's far enough for Martin to change his mind, to sober up just enough to realize that he doesn't want this, not really. Not with him. Tim knows just how it'll go: Martin blushing and stammering, biting at his lips and looking at him with big, pleading eyes, begging him without words to make things easier on him. And he will. Of course he will. He has no intention of stopping himself - he's not a saint - but if (when) Martin wants to he won’t make it hard on him.

Except that's not what happens. Martin slides in the back of the cab after him, pressing in close, and although his face is red and his eyes are wide he only looks eager. Tim puts a hand on his thigh, and he swallows hard, color growing more hectic. His legs open slightly, and now he does bite his lip, eyes darting to Tim's mouth. Tim lets his hand slide higher along his leg, then higher, and he's so ridiculously responsive to it, hips twitching and breath speeding up, and it's hotter than it has any right to be. Tim leans in, can't help it, and Martin meets him halfway.

They spend the rest of the drive necking like teenagers, and by the time they pull up to Tim's house they're both hard and panting, half sprawled across the seat; Tim has his thigh between Martin's and his hands on his arse, encouraging him to rock down into him, gasping every time that Martin's leg brushes his own straining erection. It takes them a minute to realize that the cab has stopped moving, and when they do it takes them another one to untangle themselves enough to stumble out of it. The cool air feels good on his flushed face, but Tim barely registers it as he pays the driver, choosing not to notice the way he's smirking as he accepts the fare.

Martin's on him the second he closes the door, crowding him up against it, kissing him hard. Tim has to tilt up to meet his mouth; he hadn't realized it before, how much bigger than him Martin is, all large hands and broad shoulders and thick arms and legs. The easy way that he pins Tim to the door makes him shudder, and he thinks briefly about those hands holding him down while Martin takes what he wants - he shudders again, then brings his hands to Martin's chest and shoves.

Martin stumbles back, eyes going wide. "Wha-?” He starts, and Tim pushes him again, again, maneuvering him through the house until his legs hit Tim’s bed and he falls backwards onto it. Tim doesn't wait for him to get his bearings; just climbs on after him and kisses him, kisses him, hand sliding down his body until it finds the bulge in his jeans. Martin whines into his mouth when he presses down, hips thrusting into his hand. Tim smiles, gets the button and zip undone so that he can slide his hand inside.

He's thick, slick with precome; when Tim's hand wraps around him he cries out hoarsely, body jerking and hands curling tightly into Tim's shirt. He moans when Tim starts to stroke, head tilting back, and Tim happily takes advantage of the exposed neck in front of him, leaning forward and biting down as Martin shakes against him, coming apart.

It doesn't take very long. Martin cries out again, back arching, and Tim feels his dick spasm in his hand. Tim works him through it, continuing to slide his hand over him until Martin makes a soft, pained noise and tries to shift away. Tim sighs and relaxes his grip, and Martin relaxes into the bed, breathing hard, hands still loosely tangled in Tim's shirt. Tim is gratified to see that he seems a little dazed, although he doesn’t want to read too much into it. They’ve both been drinking, after all, and Martin had pretty much admitted that he didn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. _Was that the first time anyone else has ever-?_ He wonders, and feels an odd thrill go through him at the thought, straight to his dick, which is uncomfortably hard. He reaches down to adjust himself, and Martin’s eyes catch on the movement of his hand.

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening, and then he’s pushing Tim’s hand out of the way, sitting up and working at the button on his trousers, head bent so Tim can’t see his face, and shit, not again.

“You don’t-“ he says, and Martin stops trying to tug his trousers down and looks at him. His eyes are wide and dark, hazy with lust.

“I _want_ to,” he says.

Tim can see that. And he wants, too; of course he does. This time when Martin tries to tug his trousers down, he lifts his hips to help.

Once Tim has been divested of his trousers, Martin kneels on the floor in front of him. His eyes are focused on Tim’s dick, hard and leaking precome, standing up like it knows where it’s going and it can’t wait to get there. He leans forward, eyes dark, mouth slightly open. The hungry look on his face is gratifying, but then his breath is hitting Tim’s dick and he forgets all about gloating. All of his focus narrows down to the feeling of those warm puffs of air, to the mouth that is so very, very close, but not quite close enough, not yet, and all he can think about is how it will feel to be inside.

Martin hesitates, his lips (soft and red and still swollen from their earlier kisses) less than an inch away from him, and, Tim bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at him to get on with it, already, fuck, please just get your mouth on me. This is why he doesn’t pick up virgins. _It’s his first time_, he tells himself, _don’t be a –_ and then Martin licks his lips nervously and his tongue brushes up against the head of his dick, there’s nothing in the world that could stop Tim from twitching his hips towards that tongue, that _mouth_, a hissed “Fuck” escaping before he can bite it back.

Martin’s eyes flash up at him briefly. “Oh,” he exhales, a warm wash of air, and then he leans forward and does it again and Tim makes a strangled noise and fists his hands in the duvet. Again Martin licks him, and again, lapping at the head of Tim’s dick. It’s good but not enough, not nearly enough, and Tim’s entire body strains towards Martin’s mouth, begging wordlessly for him to stop teasing. His hands leave the duvet and find their way to Martin’s head, fingers sliding into his hair as he applies just enough pressure for Martin to get what he wants him to do. Martin makes a soft noise, almost a moan but not quite, and finally takes Tim in his mouth.

It isn’t the best blowjob he’s ever had. Martin goes too fast, tries to take too much and gags, and he doesn’t know to cover his teeth. They scrape against Tim’s dick with every bob of his head he shouldn’t be into it but he is. He _wants_, and it doesn’t matter that Martin isn’t amazing at it. What matters are the noises he’s making as he sucks Tim off; soft moans that create a gentle vibration around his dick, spiking his arousal even higher. What matters are his hands, hesitant at first but growing bolder, sliding over his thighs and his stomach, down to play with his balls and then his arse. One wandering finger slips in between his cheeks, a question, and Tim presses back into it, answering with his body even as his voice rings through the air.

“Yeah,” he pants. “Yeah, do it, come on.”

The finger circles around his opening as Martin continues to work his mouth over him. Tim waits for it to slide in, expects it, but it never does, just continues to move around the very edges of the quivering muscle with a touch so light it almost isn’t there at all. Tim moans, squirming and rocking back, trying to find a way to work that maddening, circling finger inside him. His fingers tighten Martin’s hair and he’s pulling before he’s really aware of it. Martin lets out a loud, pleased moan, sending sparks of pleasure along the length of Tim’s dick, down his legs and up his spine. His hips jerk, body tensing as it prepares for release. “Martin,” he says, gasps really, and Martin hums, making his toes curl. “Martin, I’m-“ he gives a sharp tug on his hair, and Martin makes another pleased noise and pushes forward suddenly, taking him in deep enough that his nose brushes against the skin of Tim’s belly. At the same time, he slides his finger up and inside of Tim’s body, and that does it, Tim’s gone, back arching and legs shaking as his body loses the fight against the pleasure and he comes, spilling helplessly into Martin’s mouth.

Martin gags a little and pulls off of him, still working his finger inside his body, and Tim groans and reaches for his dick, needing the friction. Martin beats him to it, getting a hand around him and pumping slowly, jacking him through the last of his orgasm. His eyes are on Tim’s face, and he can’t handle the intense way he’s watching him. He closes his eyes rides it out, panting, hands once again curled into the duvet beneath him, clenching and unclenching in a sporadic rhythm. When he feels like he can breathe again, he opens his eyes to find Martin wiping come off of his face. Tim winces and starts to apologize, but Martin only gives his hand a thoughtful look before bringing it up to his mouth, lips parting and tongue darting out to taste.

Tim’s own mouth drops open, and it’s too soon for him to get hard again but his dick gives it its best shot anyway.

Martin sees him looking and flushes, dropping his hand and rubbing it against the leg of his jeans, which Tim only now realizes he’s still wearing. “Um, I was just-” he starts, but Tim doesn’t care, doesn’t want to hear whatever apology he might be making. He fists a hand in the front of Martin’s shirt and tugs him forward, kisses him hard, sucking on his tongue. Martin gasps and then melts into the kiss, pressing Tim back into the bed.

They kiss for some time; the same long, drugging kisses that they’d shared in the club, in the cab, and Tim isn’t usually into making out like this but damned if he isn’t into it now. Every small noise that Martin makes only makes him want to draw more of them out, to kiss him until all he is is gasps and moans and straining, trembling flesh. Somewhere in there he remembers to get rid of the rest of Martin’s clothes, and with all that new skin exposed Tim lets his mouth wander, his hands wander, sliding over him, mapping him out while he sucks mark after mark into his skin. He wants to mark Martin up, wants to leave a ring of bruises on him that will let anyone who looks know exactly what he’s been doing. Martin’s reactions are more than encouraging; every new space that Tim’s mouth finds coaxes a soft noise out of him, half-surprise, half-lust, and Tim can feel him, hot and hard against his thigh. He shifts, spreads his legs, lets Martin’s dick slip down to the crease of his arse. Martin gasps and thrusts and Tim moans, unable to help it, and rocks into him, feeling his dick slide between his cheeks.

Martin thrusts again, and oh, he’s so close to getting in, so close, if Tim just angles it right-and then he pulls back, away, and when Tim tries to pull him back he wraps his hands (so large, _god_) around his wrists and pins them to the bed.

“Wait,” he says, panting the words. “I want, I want-“

“Anything,” Tim pants back. “Anything you want.” He means it. He’d thought that Martin had wanted to be fucked, had come here prepared to do that, but if Martin wants to fuck him, he can. He can hold him down and take him hard, can slide into him soft and sweet and slow. Can just rock against the crease of his arse until he paints his back and thighs in come. _Anything, please, anything._

“I want you to-I want-“ Martin shakes his head, cheeks flushed and eyes dark, and then reaches back, gets his hand around Tim’s dick and strokes once, twice, before sliding back and lifting himself up–

Tim puts his hands on his hips. “Right. Okay. Just, just don’t go too fast, it-“

“Oh my _God_-“ Martin says, and he sounds horrified. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to try to-to-I know what I’m doing, I’ve done it before-“

“You said-“

“To _myself, _I’ve-“ and Martin covers his face with his hands, shoulders shaking, and Tim feels like a complete twat. _Smooth, Tim. Yes, surely this will make him forget all about J-anyone else. Great job._

“Shit, I’m s-“ he starts, but then Martin’s looking at him, and he’s laughing, reaching out to pull Tim’s head forward and kiss him, muttering against his mouth.

“Just shut up, shut up and let me-“ and then he slides down, seating himself in Tim’s lap, and the words cut off into a moan. “Oh, this is-“ he shifts slightly and gasps.

“Good?” Tim asks, and twitches his hips up. Martin gasps again and then grinds down.

“Yeah,” he says, voice wrecked, and then he tips forward and seals his mouth to Tim’s.

They rock together slowly, and it’s too intimate, Tim knows it, but he can’t stop. It feels too good, to be wrapped up in Martin’s bulk, in his warmth. To move slowly and suck on his tongue and run his hands up and down his back as he shudders and writhes against him. He wanted it to be good for him, he remembers, wanted to make it so good that Martin would think of him no matter who else he was with, and he knows it is. Knows it from the way Martin clings to him, from the trembling sighs he keeps breathing into his mouth. Tim wraps a hand around his hard and leaking dick, coaxing him out of their rhythm into an excited bucking, driving him towards the edge even as he feels his own body shoot deliriously toward it. He makes sure that Martin falls over it before he does, holds on just long enough to watch his face as he comes, before following him over.

After, Martin curls up sated and sleepy next to him, arm slung over his waist, and Tim knows that he should break the mood. He should get up, clean them off, make things awkward enough that Martin decides to leave, but be can’t. He doesn’t want to. What he wants is to close his eyes, to sink into Martin’s warmth and pretend that this is something he gets to keep.

_This really was such a bad idea,_ he thinks again as his eyes drift closed and he slides towards sleep, and that’s true, but it’s too late to take it back. Surely there’s no harm in enjoying it a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please drop me a line and let me know. :)


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